Looking out the window Uncle Tommy said, "pinto beans. I've been meaning to have a look at that new setup. We should drive down and see." So we got in the car and headed to the end of the field and watched while ten tons of pinto beans got poured into a semi truck. The combine was powered by a GPS which would steer it and remember where all the beans were, and how far out fertilizer needed to be spread and such and, I'm told, you can tell it where good and bad patches of ground are and it will put more or less fertilizer on those spots. But the beans had been cut two or three weeks ago and left on the ground to dry out and once they were dry, they were ready for the combine to come scoop them up and thrash the hulls off of them -- the beans went into a hopper and the hulls and any dirt that got picked up got blasted out the back in a cloud of dust. This wasn't the backbreaking labor it was when Uncle Tommy and Trillian's grandfather had been harvesting beans, where teams of 15 or twenty men would throw beans into a truck with a pitch fork.
We left with about five pounds of pinto beans, fresh from the ground.
We soaked and cooked some of them Monday night and tonight we made refried beans which turned into fajhitas.
It seems oddly satisfying.
Fajhitas with soy cheese, black olives, diced tomatoes and chopped scallions.
As always, Roswell investigates.
Roswell and Trillian and I watched the third Harry Potter movie and ate our supper. It was a lovely evening. Thanks farmers of America.
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